He would do anything for me.
Did you hear me?
Think about that.
I wrote this little poem less than a year after the bone marrow transplant (BMT), and I don’t remember if I wrote it about God or about David. I guess that’s a good thing? Aren’t men supposed to love their wives like Jesus loved the church— till death? To death. Well that’s the way I am loved.
Recently, for our anniversary, we bought a Maple tree that we will spend the next few decades turning into a Bonsai. Wood is one of the traditional gifts exchanged on the 6th anniversary. I had no idea the process of building and shaping a tree into a Bonsai is so intensive! The tender care required in pruning, wiring, brushing the bark, etc. The scary, nail-biting techniques that are essential in maintaining the health and beauty of the tree; you don’t know if you’re going to crack the limb right off, or shape and inspire it into near-perfection. Hours and hours and hours spent molding this wild form.
When we got married six years ago David didn’t know that he would have to flush my ports, or give me injections, or love me through addiction(s), or father four kids in five years. After the BMT he cleaned up more of my diarrhea and vomit than any husband should ever have to in a lifetime. Such tender, tender care he extended, never once making me feel bad or worth less because of it. And what about those scary calls we’ve had to make? The ones that make or break us? I don’t know anyone braver than he. Hours and hours and hours spent forging, pruning, breaking, growing, creating this wild form. With and through the Master Gardener’s help and love, or course. When he suggested a Bonsai I had no clue how pertinent a gift it truly was… I can’t wait to spend the next however-many decades loving and creating this life we were given.